


Missing Something?

by whimseyrhodes



Category: Leverage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 18:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13324047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimseyrhodes/pseuds/whimseyrhodes
Summary: Enemies continue to hunt Eliot, long after Croatia was freed. FINISHED





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work posted on FF(dot)net March 2, 2009

"Are you missing something?"

The cruel voice that came over the phone made the little hairs on the back of Nate's neck shiver. It had nothing to do with the fact that Eliot was about a day overdue, and everything to do with the sadism that dripped from each word.

There were no more words as the phone was dropped, and in the background they all heard the unusual sound of a crack, followed by a strangled exclamation. Angry voices could be heard, and then a particularly sharp crack! , followed by Eliot's bloodcurdling scream.

Then the phone went dead.

Four Days Earlier:

Having finished the job against Oregon Financial Loan, the team decided to take a break and leisurely meander back to their new estate. They agreed to meet in three days, and then proceeded to make plans for their 'mini-vacations'. Eliot had mentioned something about a horse farm that he was familiar with in Montana, and the rest of the team knew that their resident 'cowboy' would be in clover for a few days. Therefore, Sophie and Nate took the Tesla on a cross country jaunt, and Hardison joined Parker as she meandered along the Canadian border searching for something shiny.

 

 

Montana Skies Ranch:

Eliot drove the rented SUV up the long drive to the main ranch house with contentment. Rarely did he let his emotions show….well, other than the angry ones, and he was beginning to feel the strain of holding them in. He really needed this break to center himself again. As he gazed over the open fields filled with grass and sunshine, he felt the healing balm of horse country begin to soothe him. The country-bred young man looked forward to the time he would spend among the horses and their riders, people who knew the earthy rewards of hard, gritty, sweaty work and the gift of being able to just 'be' with these magnificent animals. He could already smell the leather and dust, and almost hear the creak of the harnesses, saddles and bridles.

Smiling as he put the truck in park, he slid out of the driver's seat and reached in back seat for his pack. Walking up to the house he nestled his white Stetson on his head. The front door opened, and an older man, his thick hair now streaked with grey, stepped out.

"Thom! You old bastard!" Eliot rumbled as he was engulfed in a bear hug as soon as he stepped onto the porch.

"Chris!" Eliot heard another voice call out, and he turned to the door. A shorter woman stood there, stirring a bowl of batter, beaming from ear to ear.

Eliot dipped a finger into the batter and slipped it into his mouth, grinning, then backpedaled away from the spoon she brandished at him.

"You never could resist my shortbread, boy, baked or not!" she laughed.

The hard Retrieval Specialist melted into a meek young man as he ducked around the bowl and gave the small woman a hug bigger than the one he had received from Thom.

Laughing, the three friends ambled into the big cabin, Eliot putting the tremor that shivered across his shoulders down to paranoia. Surely here no one was out to get him.

 

 

After a hearty supper with the trail boss, Thom, his lovely wife Caroline, and the ranch hands, 'Chris' settled back on the porch with a bottle of oil and his old saddle. He relaxed as he breathed in the night air, listening to the crickets and horses sleepily 'whuffling' in their paddocks as he rubbed the oil into the saddle skirt. He heard spurs softly jingle and had to consciously refrain from tensing as he recognized Thom, who quietly came up to sit on the railing next to him.

"See ya got a few new hands," 'Chris' drawled.

"Yup, old Henry decided to retire. Them joints of his just weren't up to breaking the young geldings anymore. His boys decided to move with him down to Arizona, to help him out. Lost four of my best hands right there."

"That must'a been hard. I know how good Frank and Eddie were with the training, and little Jessie always had a heart of gold when it came time for the mares' birthin's."

"Yup," Thom said again, drawing from his cigarette.

"So, how are the new ones coming along?"

"I dunno. Two of 'em seem alright, Bill and Carson, they've been here about two months, but this other one, Greg…" The sentence trailed off uncomfortably.

Eliot heard the unspoken request in his friend's voice. "You want I should take a look?"

Relief showed in the other man's eyes as he said, "You always did know what I needed. How is that, you only stayed here for five months and yet you know me so well?"

Eliot just grinned, and kept massaging oil into the pommel.

"It's good to have you back, boy."

 

 

The next morning Eliot was awake just before dawn, and grabbed a couple of buttermilk biscuits from the sideboard as he strode out of the house. The sun was beginning to peek above the mountain ridges as he lowered his Stetson onto his brow and walked to the barn.

He greeted Randy and George, who were already hard at work filling the bins with hay as one of the new hands, Bill, tossed it down from the haymow. The other new man, Carson, was busy filling the water troughs. Eliot scratched the chins of several barn cats that remembered Eliot's gentle hands, then approached each of the horses with a tender caress or tidbit of apple, and then grabbed a pitchfork and joined in.

A few hours later the man that Thom was wary of finally meandered into the barn. His dark eyes were angry, and he didn't greet anyone. He grabbed a coil of rope from the tack room and stalked out of the barn again, intent on his own business.

That was something new to Eliot. Normally, all of the hands pitched in with morning chores in the barn, then went to breakfast, then to their separate duties. Shrugging internally, he decided that he would keep watching.

Breakfast was generous, as always, and Eliot swiped a few extra shortbreads to put in his saddlebags for the ride he planned to take that morning. Caroline winked at him as he left, and he realized that specialist or not, he never would be able to 'steal' food from that woman. More than likely, he would find more in his saddlebags anyway.

As he walked to the tack room near the door of the barn, he heard a loud thud, as if a body had forcefully met a wall. Hay and dust trickled down from the hayloft.

Tensed, he opened the door just as Carson barreled into him. Catching the younger man, he saw a bloody lip and bruises rising on the man's cheek before he wrenched himself loose and ran out of the barn. Angrily, Eliot faced the aggressor.

"What's going on here?" he demanded.

"It is none of your business," Greg spat. There was a trace of accent in the words, but Eliot couldn't place it.

"Hey, you work here, that makes it my business," he replied heatedly, grabbing the man's shirtfront.

"Do not meddle in affairs that do not concern you, you will get yours soon enough," the dark eyed man said cryptically, shoving past Eliot and out of the room.

Eliot chewed on those words, trying to decide if a ride this afternoon was a good idea, and then gave up. He needed to clear his head, and the best way to do that was just to ride.

The beautiful countryside was full of the sights and sounds he remembered, and each moment of that day had brought even more peace. The hawks soared in the sky, playing on the thermals, and rabbits bounded into the bushes ahead of his mount. Every now and again he glimpsed something else; an elk, a fox, even a doe and her fawn by the creek, but they were gone even as he turned his head. His mount was as smooth gaited as he remembered. Her hooves were sure on the path, whether walking or trotting, and in the open fields he let loose and galloped for miles, letting the wind play in his hair as he laughed, his arms spread wide. He felt like a fool and didn't care. Reluctantly, he pulled her to a canter, then a trot, then a walk to cool her off. Her name was Freedom, and by the bounce in her step, she was obviously ready for more.

He restrained her gently as he bent back, reaching into his saddlebag. He grinned as he pulled out a large sack that he hadn't put there. Caroline had packed his favorite 'riding lunch' - a fried chicken sandwich with lettuce and garden fresh sprouts, beef jerky, peeled hard-boiled eggs, and more shortbread. He groaned as he ate the last of the sweets, thinking to himself that he'd gain at least ten pounds if he stayed much longer. Finishing the meal with a swig of sweet spring water from his canteen, he kneed Freedom back towards the ranch and let her have her head for another gallop.

Eliot returned late that night with his heart lighter than it had been for months, maybe even years. He dismounted and led Freedom towards the barn.

The closer they got to the barn, the jumpier Freedom got. Her head jerked up and Eliot stopped for a moment, confused.

"Easy girl," he whispered as he stroked her cheek and neck, "Easy there."

Somewhat calmed now, she let him guide her into the dimly lit barn.

'That's odd,' he thought, 'the lights should all be on, they knew I was still out riding.'

Freedom's stall was the first in the line, so he took her in and uncinched her saddle, heaving it and the blanket onto the stall railing. A sound in one of the stalls across the hall made him stop for a moment. A scratching, and then a thud. It didn't sound like one of the cats, and the horses were nervous. He mentally slapped himself as he realized something was wrong. The barn lights were mostly off, when by rules they were always left on for a late rider. The horses were nervous, which he should have noticed right away, had the peace of the afternoon not lulled him. Even Freedom herself had tried to warn him.

He went to the door of the mare's stall, turning his senses outwards. Not hearing anything other than the odd thudding, he slipped out of the stall, silently latching it behind him. He saw nothing unusual in the rest of the barn, so he crept to the other side of the hall. Finding the stall that the noises were coming from, he mentally crossed his fingers, hoping to just find one of the young boys in the stall with a girlfriend. He slipped the latch and pulled the door open.

"Oh my God!" he choked out. Lying on the floor were the bound forms of Thom, Caroline and George, the oldest ranch hand. Their hands and feet were tied with thick rope and duct tape covered their mouths. Thom's feet knocking against the wall was what Eliot had heard.

Eliot started towards them to untie them when Caroline's frightened eyes went wide.

Something hard smashed into the back of Eliot's head and he crashed into the hay at their feet, agony rippling across his skull and darkness creeping into his vision. He struggled to get to his knees, his hand going to the blood on the back of his head, but the pain forced him into darkness and he tumbled forward.

 

 

Eliot woke slowly and silently, his head throbbing. Letting the sounds tell him where he was, he discovered he was still in the barn. That mildly surprised him. He had been taken out by professionals, yet they hadn't transported him anywhere.

From muffled and angry grunts from at least two others in the background, he assumed that Thom, Caroline and George were still there, and still tied.

His shoulders ached, and he discovered that he was tied to the rafters, each wrist tied to a beam about three or four feet apart. His feet dragged on the ground, so when he had to, he could stand. He continued to play 'possum. Knowing the layout of the barn, he suspected that he was suspended in the hall below the haymow. That would mean that there were no walls or posts within his reach, and any hay bales would be stacked far away from his feet.

Other sounds now reached his ears. Birds sang in the trees and the rooster crowed, so Eliot knew he had been unconscious for about six hours. Two or three men spoke in a guttural dialect nearby, the words familiar but slipping away just before he could decipher them. Horses whickered nervously in their stalls, but for the moment were calm.

Smell came next. Sweat, hay and horse. Thankfully there was nothing frightening, like smoke or fire.

Eliot dared to open his eyes a slit, and found himself looking into the stall where his three friends were still lying. They didn't appear to be hurt, only frightened. Thom was looking intently at him, so he opened his eyes a little further and tried to project calm. Caroline saw his eyes open and looked at him, starting to struggle a little. He drew his brows together and she stilled, but he caught movement out of the corner of his vision. He quickly shut his eyes again and listened.

One of the men kicked one of his captives and Caroline yelped behind her gag.

"Knock it off!" Eliot roared, again mildly surprised that he wasn't gagged as well.

"So the little liar is awake," Greg said silkily into his ear from behind him. Eliot twitched a little; he hadn't heard or felt the other man come close to him. He felt the tip of a knife slide up his ribs, over his shoulder blades and up his neck. One swift flick and the band that had tied his ponytail snapped, leaving his hair free. The knife continued past his jaw and settled on his throat. Eliot's head was tilted away from Greg, his eyes fixed on Thom's. He saw the fright in the older man's gaze, and it startled him to realize that Thom was scared for Eliot, not himself.

"What do you want," Eliot growled. Caroline and George flinched at his tone. They had never heard 'Chris' so hard.

"My boss, he is so very angry with you, smutljivac. So we wait for you to come to your little place of peace."

"Martic," Eliot breathed.

"Yes, our divote voditelj is eager for your pain…'Chris'," Greg drew the name out like it was something filthy on his tongue. "Maybe we should tell these good people your truth, yes?"

"Go to hell," Eliot spat, and was rewarded by a vicious punch in the kidney. The other two men who had been watching from the background now stepped up. One of them stood near the three captives, gloating at the horror on their faces while the other held Eliot from behind like one would hold a punching bag. Greg stood in front of Eliot and punched him several times in the stomach, then a couple more times in the face. He switched to uppercuts to Eliot's ribs, then more jabs to his chest and again to his jaw.

After five minutes of beating, he stopped, and Eliot spit out a mouthful of blood. His ribs ached, and he knew he would be covered with bruises.

When he could speak again, he asked again, "What do you want?!"

Instead of answering him, Greg turned to the three in the stall.

"If you hurt them I swear to God I will kill you," Eliot whispered.

"Do not think for one moment that he is kidding," Greg said to the others watching him with trembling faces. "For you see, he has killed many people, in many different wars, in many different ways."

They all looked at Eliot with confusion in their eyes, pleading with him to tell them that this madman was lying.

"Eliot, excuse me, 'Chris', is a hard man, one who kills easily."

"Liar," Eliot spat, "Your precious Milan Martic was killing the villagers….men, women and children!"

"And so you thought to free them?"

"Hell yeah, I freed them!"

"With the lives of the soldiers of the government as payment," Greg said.

"Bloodthirsty mercenaries is more like!"

Out of the corner of his eye Eliot could see that Caroline, Thom and George were rapidly changing their view of him, and he was heartbroken. They had been his friends, and he had brought them fear and lies.

"I won't argue with you anymore, Greg, just let them go, please."

"My name is Dubravko Pupojec, and I am a general in my leader's army. They shall witness the punishment of a murderer."

Hands grabbed Eliot around the throat and squeezed, cutting off his air. He kicked and squirmed, trying to get his legs around his attacker, but stars sparkled in his vision and darkness crept in, and the last thing he saw were the faces of his three former friends.

 

 

When he awoke again, darkness was throwing shadows on the ground. He tried to stop the groan that came from his throat, but only ended up coughing. He was still hanging from the beams in front of the stall that held his friends. They were now untied, but the stall door was locked and one of the beefy men guarded it with an automatic rifle pointed at them.

"Chris, honey, are you all right?" The concern flowing from Caroline's voice comforted him; maybe they weren't lost to him after all.

"Caro.." his voice broke, and he gagged.

"Please," she begged, "give him some water."

"He wants water? Very well, he gets water." Eliot heard Dubravko chuckle.

His wrists were released, and before he could catch himself he was grabbed by two very strong pairs of arms. He tried to fight, but before he could do anything they were holding him in front of the water trough. One beefy hand was on the back of his neck and another plowed into his stomach, knocking his breath out of him and forcing him to bend over. They used that momentum to force his upper body into the water. He struggled, but he couldn't get his footing, and his vision started to go black. He was jerked up out of the water and he could hear screaming and yelling in the distance, but his head was shoved into the water again. He squirmed and kicked, but just as before was held firmly underwater. He started to go limp from lack of oxygen, and found himself hauled up once more. He gasped in desperate gulps of air, coughing and sputtering, and then was shoved in again. This time they held him under longer, and he couldn't stop himself from taking a reflexive breath, coughing and gagging as the water flowed into his lungs. He thrashed more from instinct not than training, and the pain in his lungs burned throughout his entire body as his oxygen starved brain shut down and he went limp.

 

 

He was surprised that he woke the next time; he thought that they had actually killed him this time. Drawing a tentative breath, he opened his eyes and found it was daylight once again.

His surprise must have shown on his face, because Thom said, "They threw you down onto the ground boy; I thought you were dead, but then you choked and tossed up a bunch of water, and they decided to tie you up again."

"…'m sorry I dragged you into this, Thom, I should'a …."

"Hush boy," Caroline scolded softly, "this ain't none a' your doin'. I'm so sorry for the water." Tears shone on her face as she listened to his rough, abused voice. It was obvious his throat had been damaged, both from the earlier choking and the near-drowning. She wondered how much more torture this young man could take.

"'s not your fault, Ms. Caroline, you weren't….."

"Oh, is this not a nice sight, Eliot is making friends," a greasy voice whispered in his ear. Once again, Dubravko had managed to sneak up on him. "Let us meet more of his friends, shall we?"

Eliot looked around in horror, thinking they had managed to capture his team, but all he saw at the far end of the barn was a cluster of nervous horses. Suddenly shots were fired from behind them, and the terrified horses bolted to the safety of the outside corral. The only problem was that Eliot was tied between them and the open door, and he couldn't move.

He tensed as the first horses ran past him, bumping him a little. The next few were bunched together and one slammed into his right side before running past, knocking the wind out of him. The last seven were even more panicked and a couple reared as they came up to the obstruction in their way. Eliot caught a hoof in his ribs, one on his hip and another on his thigh before the terrified animals were able to shove past him into the yard.

Eliot moaned as the pain in his body intensified with each strike. His shoulders were strained to their limit, and the places where the hooves slammed into him were on fire. Not making any attempt to move silently this time, Dubravko laughed as he came up behind the specialist once again.

"Do you think his shoulders hurt now? Maybe we help him a little, yes?"

The terror in Thom and Caroline's eyes were the only warning he had before he felt one massive hand slam onto the top of his right shoulder joint. The strain of the last few days and the sudden pressure of the blow forced his shoulder out of the socket and white hot agony ripped through Eliot's entire body.

He threw his head back and screamed.

 

 

Once again Eliot awakened from the darkness. This time it was slow and extremely painful, the multitude of injuries each sending spasms of agony through his body, making it nearly impossible to regain consciousness. He almost sank back into the blissful darkness, wondering why on earth would he want to wake up if they only tortured him some more? But then he remembered Caroline and the others. He had to make sure they were ok. So he struggled to open his eyes.

He found himself lashed to a fencepost this time, his arms spread out horizontally, and his body tied at the waist, hips and knees to a fence post. Groggily, he raised his head from where it had been resting against the post, and blinked in the bright rays of late afternoon. Sitting on lawn chairs about ten feet in front of him, feet and hands bound again, were Thom, Caroline and George.

He saw the tears in all their eyes, and knew they were scared out of their wits.

"What do you want?" he croaked, sharp razorblades slicing his throat with every word.

Dubravko smiled behind him, and said, "Nothing."

He heard something slice through the air beside him and heard a sharp 'crack' and realized that someone was behind him with a horsewhip. He felt a knife slice through his denim shirt and then it was ripped off, hanging around his waist by threads. He saw his friends' gazes go to his chest, and knew they saw the many scars there, as well as the dark bruises from the earlier beatings. Knife wounds, bullet holes, even a few electrical burns - all were shown and he hung his head in shame. They knew he was a liar now, that 'Chris' had never existed and that the young man in front of them was familiar with a life harder and more dangerous than they could ever imagine.

"Don't, honey, don't hang your head down," Caroline's soft voice brought his head up.

"We're proud to know you, Eliot," said George.

"You're still our boy." Tears started to form in the younger man's eyes at Thom's words.

"This is very touching, very touching indeed," Dubravko sneered. He came up to Eliot's back, lightly tracing the marks there with his knife. "You know what it is to be whipped, I think. Yes?" he purred into Eliot's ear, deceivingly gentle as he caressed his cheek with the knife. The young man trembled as he closed his eyes. He remembered the burning slashes across his back from before, how the agony of each lash seared onto his back had ignited a fire of endless pain that only unconsciousness quenched.

"Know this, young smutljivac, after this we will leave you to your pain. This is what our leader had commanded, though why he wants you alive, I do not know. You will suffer, and your comrades will watch, and you will tremble at the knowledge that we will find you again."

The promise was whispered into his ear as he heard a phone dialing, and he was almost giddy when he heard Nate's voice on the other end.

"Are you missing something?"

The whip whistled through the air and wrapped it's agony around Eliot's back as he arched and fought to stay silent. The whip lashed him again, and a strangled groan was ripped from deep in his throat as he threw his head back. He knew that the phone was held up for Nate to hear his screams, but he hoped he would pass out before that.

Distantly he could hear the others yelling at their captors, demanding them to stop, but he could barely breathe. His breath came in choking pants, the ropes around his wrists and waist seemed to cut into his flesh with sharp blades. The sun beat down on his face, and the sky seemed to whirl and the tree limbs danced in front of him. A roaring filled his ears.

A sickening 'CRACK!' sounded to his ears and suddenly his body felt like it was on fire. A bloodcurdling scream of agony ripped from his throat and then all was darkness.

 

Translations: (These are from an online Croatian translation site, so if they are incorrect, please forgive me.)

smutljivac - troublemaker

divote voditelj – glorious leader


	2. Chapter 2

Nathan Ford looked at the ringing phone and saw Eliot's name on the caller ID.

"You better trace it, Hardison; I have a bad feeling about this."

"You? You have a bad feeling? You? Man, my 'Spidey' sense is tinglin' the hell all over," the hacker said as he started the trace, the two women sitting up alertly.

"Are you missing something?"

The cruel voice that came over the phone made the little hairs on the back of Nate's neck shiver. It had nothing to do with the fact that Eliot was about a day overdue, and everything to do with the sadism that dripped from each word.

There were no more words as the phone was dropped, and in the background they all heard the unusual sound of a crack, followed by a strangled exclamation. Angry voices could be heard, and then a particularly sharp crack! , followed by Eliot's bloodcurdling scream.

Then the phone went dead.

Moments were all it took for the team to leap into action. Hardison traced the call to the Montana Skies Ranch, and was transferring all data onto his handheld. Nathan called the airport and had the jet put on emergency standby, and Sophie and Parker grabbed the always packed overnight bags and transferred them to the van. Within minutes they were heading for the private runway and on their way to Montana.

 

 

Montana Skies Ranch:

Thom, Caroline and George watched in horror as their captors doled out Eliot's 'punishment'. One stood guard, holding a rifle casually pointed at them. The leader, Dubravko, held a phone up to Eliot as the third one viciously whipped the young man. They had seen him tormented, beaten, and nearly killed in the last few days, and wondered what kind of monsters these three men were.

 

 

'Chris' had come to their ranch four years previously. He showed great skill with the horses, and a genuine love of the outdoors, the horses, and the people he was around. Shy and reserved at first, but hard working, he had quickly become one of Thom and Caroline's favorite workers, almost as close as an adopted son. Though he had stayed only five short months, it had been a great blow to the ranch to loose him.

When he had showed up on their doorstep almost a week ago, he had deep lines of strain around his eyes, their usually bright blue depths clouded with some inner turmoil. They had hoped being back at the ranch would soothe some of that pain, and after the first day, it seemed like it had.

And then one of their newest helpers, Bill, left without a word. Carson was next, and he looked like he had been in a fight. He wouldn't say anything, just left as quickly as Bill had. Randy had gone the day before to stay with his mother for the month, so it looked like they would be hard pressed for the near future with only themselves, George, and the untrustworthy 'Greg'.

When George had called them to the barn, fear evident in his voice, Thom and Caroline could only wonder what calamity had befallen them now. Surely, Lord God, not one of the horses?

Upon entering the barn, 'Greg' had appeared with a rifle, and behind them came two other armed men. They had tied the three up and put them in an empty stall, covering their mouths with duct tape. Their captors hadn't harmed them, but Thom almost wished they had, if it meant taking some of the pain away from Chris. Eliot.

When he had opened the stall door that first evening, Thom had seen something different in the way the young man moved. Gone was the easy mannered amble, here was something more lethal, almost feline in his grace and the way he held his body, tensed for danger. When he had seen them tied up, fear for them had replaced the wariness on his face, only to be quickly overshadowed by pain as the shovel slammed into his head. They had dragged him out of the stall, leaving the door open so the three inside could watch, and tied ropes to his wrists, pulling him upright as they tugged the ropes taut. Eliot's head hung loosely, blood trickling down his neck to his collar.

For hours they waited until Eliot awoke, Thom and Caroline worrying increasingly about a severe concussion. Then his eyes were open slightly, and they knew he was taking in all of his surroundings. For Thom and George, both veterans of different wars, the signs were easy to see now that this was a young man who was much more dangerous than he had seemed.

When one of the strangers kicked Caroline lightly, enough to startle her and make her yelp, Eliot's growl and promise of death made Thom and George think of their own wars. They saw Greg/Dubravko sidle up behind Eliot and knew it was too close for Eliot's comfort, even though the younger man would give no indication. When his hair was cut free of the leather band and the knife held at his throat, they saw an angry lion straining to protect what was his. Them.

What Eliot and Dubravko spoke about in half understood words meant little, only that Eliot had done what they always knew he would, stand up for the weaker, and free whomever he could.

After the cruel beating, as Thom saw the third man's beefy hands encircle Eliot's neck and begin to choke him, and as the smaller man's body writhed and fought for air he wished he was just a bit younger, just a little faster, and just a bit smarter so he wouldn't have fallen victim to these three thugs.

Later, when Eliot woke up, Caroline asked the leader for water. If only George could have stopped her from asking her innocent question. He had seen many men tortured as Eliot was being tortured, shoved under the water again and again, until they drowned. The only difference between then and now was that in the past there had always been questions that needed answers. Not now. They had demanded no answers from Eliot, and that was confusing.

When Eliot's struggles became weaker and weaker, George began to get scared. When they threw his limp, unresisting body onto the ground, he was terrified that the young man was dead. Then Eliot convulsed and coughed, vomiting up water. He still wasn't conscious, but he was breathing.

Dubravko ordered his body tied to the rafters again, and later they heard the sounds of horses being rounded up into the hall. Unsure of what that meant for the moment, they watched Eliot intently for signs of waking.

When the horses were startled into a stampede, all three of the captives watched in horror. They had all seen the terrible damage horses could do when provoked, and that Eliot was helpless in the middle of that equine fury made their blood run cold.

Eliot, too, had seen the damage a wild horse left on a fragile human body, yet he could not blame these otherwise gentle animals for their fear. George and Thom saw that forgiveness even as he was battered and beaten by the hundreds of pounds of horseflesh that ran past. They watched in horror as two of the more high strung stallions reared and slammed their hooves into Eliot's side, his face twisted in agony and his breath coming in short, pained gasps.

Then that bastard had come up behind Eliot again and cruelly dislocated his shoulder, causing him to scream in pain before he passed out.

Thom sighed in relief as he saw the young man collapse. Even though his shoulder would burn like fire when he woke up, Thom was grateful that he was oblivious for the time being. He couldn't believe it when they dragged him out into the open paddock and forced the others to follow. They dropped Eliot's body onto the dusty ground and tied the three captives to lawn chairs set up as an audience. Hours went by with no indication of awareness from the young man who lay in the dirt. His long, tangled hair covered most of his face, and every once in a while an exhalation of breath would stir the chestnut locks a little.

Late in the afternoon, Dubravko ordered them to tie the specialist to the fence post. They used rope to tie his shoulders, hips and knees, but then Thom's gorge rose when he saw them wind razor wire around Eliot's waist and wrists.

"What do you want?" Eliot had asked.

Dubravko smiled behind him, and said, "Nothing."

Thom saw the light go out with those words as Eliot, George and himself realized what those words meant. There would be no reprieve from what Dubravko and his men would do, nothing that Eliot could do or say that would stop them. Thankfully, Caroline was still innocent of that.

Still unbelieving that the man could be so full of cruelty, they watched as one of his followers took the 12 foot horsewhip from the ground and started practicing, the sharp crack echoing through the valley. Thom kept careful vigilance on Eliot's face, seeing the corner of his eye twitch with every 'pop' of the whip. Dubravko sliced the shirt from the well-built chest, and they gasped at the dark bruising that mottled his ribs and sides, knowing that it covered his back too. Under those dark marks, they could also see testaments of a harder life of knives, guns, and more cruelty written on the well-muscled torso. They tried to strengthen him with their words, but they weren't sure it was enough. When Dubravko whispered something into Eliot's ear and slid the knife along his back, they saw the smaller man's eyes fill with fear and remembered pain, and he started to tremble.

They missed what transpired between Eliot and Dubravko, but saw the phone the wicked man held up to him as he felt the first kiss of the whip. Eliot's eyes snapped shut and his teeth clenched in an effort not to make a sound. The whip was drawn back and sailed through the air again, the popper at the end wrapping over Eliot's shoulder as it struck him. He couldn't stop the strangled groan from escaping his throat. They started to yell and scream for Dubravko to stop, watching Eliot's eyes glaze over with pain, choking on his own breath when the whip descended a third time with fury. The lash bit into Eliot's back, blood spraying from the wound as he tried to arch away from it. He screamed in agony and his eyes finally rolled up into his head as he fell against the post.

Dubravko smiled with satisfaction and snapped the phone closed.

"And now, my friends, our business is concluded," he said. Snapping out orders in a guttural language, they barely noticed as the other two men hastily left the area. All they were concerned about as they struggled against their bonds was the shivering form of the young man tied to the post in front of them.

Caroline was startled when Dubravko stepped in front of her and held the knife in her face. She shook as she looked at his face, then at the glinting steel.

"Do not worry, little Caroline, you will not be hurt. Remind the little smutljivac Eliot of my words. What we have done once, we will do again." With that he slid the knife into a sheath and laid it in her lap. He walked behind her, and a few moments later, a vehicle started up and drove off.

The vehicle was barely out of sight when Eliot started to move. His hands clenched at the railing spasmodically and his head jerked. With a strangled groan he lifted his head to stare blearily at them.

"Easy, Eliot, take it easy, you're okay," Thom started in his gentlest voice, as if talking to a panicky stallion.

"…..t….Thom…," he could only whisper brokenly.

"It's okay, Eliot, they're gone now," he continued, "You're okay. Just relax."

Eliot saw that they were still tied up and started to struggle, pulling at the wire around his wrists but not seeming to realize that the razors were digging in deeper.

"I…I...I can't…can't…" he fought to free himself as they tried to calm him.

"It's okay, Eliot. Stop struggling. Eliot, Eliot, stop. We will be okay, you're hurting yourself."

Awareness seemed to shimmer in his eyes as he watched them, then looked at his raw and bleeding wrists.

"…..oh," he said thickly.

Thom had managed to twist around in his chair enough to reach the knife in his wife's lap, then unsheathe it and start to saw on the bindings on his wrists with a little direction from Caroline. When his wrists were free, he quickly cut Caroline's and then ran over to calm Eliot with his soft voice.

In moments Caroline had freed George, and he ran to help Thom as Caroline ran into the barn for blankets and a wire cutter.

Returning, she gave the wire cutters to George and spread the blankets on the ground behind Eliot as the men worked to free their young friend.

Just as she finished she heard a soft moan behind her and she turned around as George started to unwind the razor wire from Eliot's right wrist. The wire had dug into the mangled flesh of his wrist, causing heavy blood flow. Thankfully, it had cut only the back of his wrists, not the major veins. Caroline took the ragged remnants of his denim shirt and ripped it into strips, tying one tightly around the fragile wrist. Thom had finished cutting all the rope and was holding Eliot upright now, one arm around Eliot's shoulders and one knee between his legs and braced against the post, so the weight of his body wouldn't pull at the other wounds. Blood had poured from the gash in his back and trickled into the waistline of his jeans, seeping deeply into the fabric. George made short work of snipping the other wrist free of the wire, then gently unwinding it. Caroline was right next to him, quickly tying the make-shift bandage tight. George moved to the wire around Eliot's waist, thanking God that the majority of it had dug into his jeans, but some of the wire had still clawed its way into the young man's sides. He cut the three strands that were wrapped around the lean waist and carefully tugged them free, trying to ignore the soft whimper of pain.

"Are you ready, son?" Thom gently whispered into Eliot's ear before he moved.

Eliot raised his head with effort and nodded, letting his head fall back against Thom's broad chest.

With tremendous care, Thom and George lowered Eliot's body onto the blanket, settling his legs and hips on the ground before moving any further. Eliot trembled in Thom's arms, his breaths coming in short, stuttering gasps. They waited a few moments until his breathing evened out, then lowered him the rest of the way to the blanket, settling him somewhat on his left side. Even with the beatings he had taken, it seemed like they were fortunate enough that he had no broken ribs.

"Caroline, call 911," Thom started to say, but Eliot's hand snapped out and clamped around her wrist before she could stand up.

"No!" he said forcefully. "No hospitals. Promise me." His eyes bored into Thom's until Thom acquiesced.

"But Chri…Eliot, Honey, you need a doctor."

"No, no doctors….no…'m friends'll come soon…be okaaaay…" his whispers disappeared softly as he lapsed into brief unconsciousness.

"How're we gonna get him into the house?" George asked.

Caroline jumped up and ran off behind the barn, returning a few moments later with her garden cart. It had two large carriage wheels on either side of a low wooden platform that was about four feet long. She tipped it up to a low incline and they gently pulled the blanket carrying its precious burden onto it. His lower legs and feet were still on the ground, but the majority of his body rested on the sturdy cart. Thom pulled the cart towards the house as George and Caroline held the end of the blanket up so his feet didn't drag. In short moments they were at the porch.

Thom knelt down and gathered the smaller man to his chest, preparing to carry him into the house when Eliot stirred again.

"Kin walk m'self," he slurred stubbornly.

He abruptly gathered his feet under himself and rose awkwardly, almost overbalancing and falling again, but Thom steadied him, the blanket wrapped firmly around his shoulders. Once he felt steady, he slowly negotiated the steps, and walked carefully into the front great room. Thom steered him towards one of the lounges in front of the fireplace when Eliot started to argue, mumbling something about 'blood on the furniture', but Thom insisted. He sat the wounded young man on the edge of the chaise and waited for Caroline to spread a thick, soft blanket over it before lowering him onto the cushion.

Eliot moaned as his back touched the blanket, arching up in an effort to take the pressure off of the wound. Thom and George helped adjust him onto his side again as Caroline busied herself in the kitchen. George poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the sideboard, and Thom helped raise Eliot's head enough to drink. He managed a few faltering sips, sighing in relief as the water seeped down his dry throat, and they waited a moment before letting him drink again.

While they worked to get him to drink the much needed water, Caroline was in the kitchen boiling pans of water and gathering towels, bandages and bruise liniments. Since they lived on a ranch, wounds were somewhat common, and therefore they had a well-stocked first aid cabinet. When the first pan of water was boiling, she brought it and the towels and bandages out to the great room where Eliot lay.

The men had maneuvered Eliot onto his left side and were preparing to put his shoulder back into the socket. Caroline set the pan of water and towels down, and moved swiftly to crouch at Eliot's head. Smoothing his hair and making soft crooning noises she distracted him from what the others were doing. She was unprepared, however, for the way his head jerked back and his mouth opened in a silent scream as they slid the joint back into place, the veins in his neck standing out in sharp relief. His eyes slightly crossed as they rolled back again, and his face relaxed as his head dropped onto the couch.

They all worked as quickly as they could to bathe the blood from his wrists and back and wrap the wounds with bandages, knowing that he had a tendency to regain consciousness quickly. The last whip slash had gone down to the bone in places, so Thom decided to stitch it. With the others sitting close, ready to soothe the young man if he awakened prematurely, he set to work closing the almost 14 inch gash. Eliot wavered close to the surface at times, his breath hitching as Thom pulled a stitch, only to be sent back under by a soft touch on his hair or a gentle squeeze of his forearm, two of the rare places he could be touched without pain.

Unconcerned for modesty, they removed his boots and jeans, and wrapped his thigh and hip with hot compresses where the hooves had struck him. The heat would bring out the bruising, but it would keep the muscles supple and relaxed, and would ease some of the pain.

When they were finished with all that they could do, they stoked the fire to blazing and tucked soft blankets around his shivering form, knowing that above all else, they had to keep him warm.

The front door opened with a crash.


	3. Chapter 3

The front door opened with a crash.

Nate, Hardison, Sophie and Parker barreled into the room in a rush. Caroline, Thom and George jumped up and gathered in front of the couch, unconsciously guarding Eliot. The two groups rushed towards each other, each unwilling to give ground as they faced each other head-on.

"Where is he!?"

"Who are you?"

"Is he OK?"

"What happened?"

"Get out of my way!"

Voices tripped over and slammed against each other in a cacophony of sound.

"ENOUGH!" came the loud bellow from behind them all. Startled into silence they all turned to see Eliot sitting up unsteadily on the chaise, arm held protectively against his chest. The rush of anger left him quickly and he started to slump, Thom and Nathan reaching him at the same time and each sliding a gentle arm behind his back and neck to ease him to the cushions. They looked at each other over Eliot's panting form and decided they were on the same team.

Parker, Sophie and Hardison sat on the couches next to Caroline and listened as she haltingly relayed the tale of the last few days, sometimes stammering to a stop with a gasp. There Thom or George would pick up the tale, talking them through the worst of the torture Eliot had endured. Then Caroline would gather herself and continue as well as she could. At times during the story Eliot would show signs of wakefulness, and when they could, they encouraged him to drink water or medicine laced teas.

Eventually the team's gear was brought into the ranch house and couches were made into temporary beds, because no one wanted to leave Eliot alone for any amount of time. Hardison soon had his computers set up and running smoothly, and he happily played in the background as the rest got ready for bed. George excused himself and went out to the bunkhouse, and Thom and Caroline went to their bedroom late into the night, with instructions if Eliot should wake. Nate, Sophie and Hardison went to their beds with strict instructions to Parker that all the shiny things were to stay put where they were.

Off and on throughout the night, someone would wake and pad softly to Eliot's side, only to find someone else there keeping watch. They would smile, trade places, and patter back to bed knowing there was someone with him at all times.

The morning broke early, and Caroline busied herself in the kitchen again, this time with Sophie and Parker's dubious help. They cooked breakfast, and Caroline made sure to bake a perfect batch of shortbread, slapping anyone's hands that happened to stray too close.

A simple, "They're for Eliot," and no move was again made.

Morning wandered into afternoon, and afternoon into evening before Eliot stirred. His eyes opened slowly and he looked around the room. Nate was sitting at his side and gently lifted him up as Thom held a glass of water to his lips. He drank a bit, and then moved his head to indicate he was done. They eased him down again, he gasped when his back touched the couch. His eyes clenched closed and he panted for a moment until he could control the pain.

"Glad to see ya finally got here," he rasped at Nate. "Took ya long enough."

"You're lucky we decided to come for your scrawny ass in the first place," Nate replied, relieved that Eliot seemed to be healing.

Eliot sighed and fell back to sleep.

Later that night, Eliot began thrashing in his sleep. Nathan was at his side as the others in the room woke up. Lights were turned on and they gathered around the couch.

"He's got a fever, get some cold water," Nate ordered.

Sophie and Parker complied, returning with buckets of cold water and towels. Hardison and Nate had stripped the bedding and gently laid Eliot on his side on the hardwood floor, hoping that the cool wood would help draw out the fever. Sophie replaced the linens on the couch as the rest dipped towels into the water and bathed Eliot's heated body. Sometime that night Thom and Caroline came down to see what the noise was about, and they too took turns trying to cool the young man down.

It was well into afternoon before the fever finally left Eliot in a fiery burst of heat, leaving him panting on the floor in exhaustion. They helped him sit up, then helped him back onto the chaise, lifting his legs onto the crisp, clean linen.

Caroline brought a tray of food and sat on the edge of his couch, intent on getting him to eat and begin to build up his strength. He wasn't too proud to let her spoon the rich beef broth into his mouth, especially after realizing his own hand shook too much to hold the utensil. He managed to eat half of the bowl before his eyelids started to slide shut. She smiled and tucked the light sheet around him and returned to the kitchen.

 

 

Three days later and the Retrieval Specialist was starting to become restless. His shoulder still burned, even though his arm was strapped to his chest for stability, and he couldn't walk for more than a few steps before his hip and thigh started to tremble, but he needed to move.

On more than one occasion they had found him looking longingly out at the barn, or resting in a chair on the porch like a cat in a sunbeam.

Thom and Caroline still rubbed liniment into his hip and thigh each night, even though it made him shake with pain. They would wrap him in warm compresses after they finished as he curled up on the couch, trying to ride out the muscle spasms that made him groan. After an hour or so he would finally relax and slip into sleep, and the rest would begin their nightly duties of keeping watch over his sleeping frame.

Two days after that, the team started making arrangements to take Eliot home.

Caroline leaned into the truck as the others loaded it, setting a big basket on the floor beside Eliot's seat. He grinned at her, knowing what it held. His face was thinner, and he was still too pale for her liking, but the sparkle was back in his eyes.

"Now, I know I don't have to tell you to take it easy, son," Thom said from behind her. He reached in and cupped his big hand around the back of Eliot's neck, looking directly at him. "You be careful, and you come back when you need to."

Eliot smiled at the older man, knowing in his heart that he would be back to ride in the rich horse country at Montana Skies again.


End file.
